


Millennial

by killabeez



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Clan Denial, Cory to the Rescue, Episode: s05e20 Archangel, F/M, Fix-It, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: On the eve of the millennium, Amanda gets an unexpected call.





	Millennial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raine_Wynd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/gifts).



> Thank you to hafital, my magnificent beta. You are the best.

_Late December, 1999_

Amanda hurried toward Saint-Julien under a pale, clear winter sky, hands in her pockets to keep her coat closed against the gusts. Liam’s message had said only, “Come see me today. Soon as you can—it’s important,” leaving her imagination to fill in the blanks. 

When it came to Nick, Liam was her only source of news; she’d promised Nick that if he’d go to Saint-Émilion, if he’d let Ceirdwyn teach him, she wouldn’t interfere, or try to check on him. So far, she’d kept that promise. Nick called Liam every couple of weeks or so, and since he hadn’t expressly forbidden Liam from sharing his progress, she and Liam had a standing lunch date every Tuesday. But today was only Thursday. What was so important?

“Liam?” she called as she stepped inside the church, the heavy door swinging shut behind her. Her chest felt tight, and she tried to calm her nerves. It couldn’t be Nick. She would have heard from Joe, or from Ceirdwyn herself if something had happened—wouldn’t she?

“Amanda?”

“Yes, darling. Is everything all right?”

Her old friend appeared from the rectory, dressed in civilian clothes. “I’m glad you could make it.” He greeted her with their usual embrace, and kissed her cheek. She searched his face, but he didn’t look like a man with bad news to share. She’d known him long enough to be sure of that much. “Nick’s fine,” he said hastily, seeing her worry. “At least, as far as I know. It’s not that.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Give a girl a hint next time, will you?”

“Apologies. I didn’t want to give anything away on the recording, just in case our tattooed friends were listening.”

She pulled off her gloves. “Well, I’m here. Why all the mystery? Is there someone in town?”

Liam’s face quirked. “You could say that.”

He glanced back toward the rectory, and she didn’t know what to call his expression. Not afraid, but…unsettled, maybe? And was that a note of wonder in his voice?

“You’re being very mysterious. Who is it? Are you going to make me guess?”

But then she felt the swell of Immortal presence. It hummed deep in her bones until a slight, familiar figure appeared in the doorway. 

Richard Ryan smiled, a lopsided smile that she’d never thought she’d see again.

“Hey, Amanda.”

~*~

The shock of recognition robbed Amanda of words. Then the hair rose on her arms. It couldn’t be.

“Richie?” 

“In the flesh.”

“But how—?” She caught her breath, and tears sprang to her eyes. His smile turned self-deprecating at her reaction, as if he hadn’t expected her to care so much. And that, more than anything, convinced her that he was real. She rushed to him, and he met her embrace with his own. She held on tight, and he felt real enough—he was wearing a thick sweater she recognized as Liam’s, and she buried her face in it. “Oh, my god, Richie. You’re alive. How is this possible?” Duncan, Methos, Joe—they’d all been there. There’d been a quickening. A funeral. His grave was in the yard of this very church—she’d laid flowers there on his birthday. Even as she hugged him, and felt his embarrassed chuckle, she remembered how far down the hole Duncan had gone believing he’d killed him. How much Joe was still hurting. Had Richie somehow escaped that night, and let them believe he was dead all this time? It seemed crueler than she could ever imagine him being.

At last, she let him go. She laid a hand on his cheek and examined him in wonder from head to foot. He looked exactly the same. “Is it really you? I can’t believe it!”

“As far as I know.”

She frowned, and wiped her face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means, you’re probably not going to believe me when I tell you how I got here. Hell, I’m not sure I believe it.”

 _Don’t jump to conclusions,_ she told herself. _Give him a chance to explain._

“I’m listening.”

Richie didn’t immediately answer. He turned away, bouncing his knuckles on the back of a chair. Liam had made himself scarce, she realized, so as not to intrude on their reunion.

Richie asked, “Father Riley told me that Mac left Paris. Is that true?”

“Yes. Last year.” When he said nothing, she went on, “Some jerk from his past kidnapped me and Joe, tried to use us to blackmail him into giving himself up without a fight. Everything turned out okay, but it shook him pretty badly. He couldn’t face the idea of someone else he cared about being used against him—not after what happened to you. He dropped off the map, and Methos disappeared not long after.”

“So you don’t know where he is?” She shook her head, and he looked relieved. “Good. Because I don’t want him to know about this. About me. Not yet, anyway.”

Amanda frowned. “It’s been two and a half years, Richie.” They didn’t all have centuries to spare. “What about Joe?”

“Him neither. Not until I figure things out.” 

“Richie…he hasn’t been the same since you—you know. None of them have. I get why you wouldn’t want to see MacLeod, even after all this time, but Joe?”

“Amanda, you weren’t there. I still don’t understand everything that happened that night—never mind how I got here—but I need to, and I can’t do that unless I can get out of Paris, clear my head.”

She digested that. “I don’t like the Watchers any more than you do, but Joe happens to be the one person in France who knows more about this Ahriman thing than anyone. Maybe—”

Richie interrupted. “I wasn’t hiding out somewhere, or on vacation in Hawaii. I was dead. Like, really, most sincerely dead.” He gave a whistle and a quick, slicing motion across his throat. “I’ve been buried in that cemetery out back the whole time.” He drew a deep breath. “Until last night, when I dug myself out. So, yeah. I’m not passing go, or collecting two hundred dollars—I'm getting the hell out of Paris.”

“You—” Amanda faltered. Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. “Damn.” At last, she understood what he'd risked to see her, how much he was trusting her. She was touched. She knew what it felt like to have to claw yourself out of your own grave, and it was an experience she never wanted to repeat.

He went on, “I know it sounds crazy. It’s been two and a half years for you, but for me, it was yesterday. I have no idea why this is happening, or what it means that I came back. But I’m here. And it’s two days until the millennium, and I can’t believe that’s a coincidence.”

Some of what Joe had told her about the prophecy, about MacLeod hallucinating dead people, began to come back to her. “By whose calendar?” she asked. “Gregorian? Julian? Hijri? I mean, technically, the millennium doesn’t end for another year. Besides, Joe told me that's all over with. MacLeod defeated the demon over a year ago.”

That caught Richie’s attention. “Defeated it how?”

“Well, I don’t know the details, but they both seemed pretty sure.” She considered. “Come to think of it, they were pretty sure about you being dead, too.”

“Exactly.” Richie paced a little, determination hardening his expression. “Just in case they’re wrong—I’m not gonna let myself get used like that again. I’m done playing that game.”

Amanda had to concede that he could be right. All this demon stuff was way outside of her comfort zone. She’d barely believed the circumstances of Richie’s death when it happened, and honestly, she’d never asked too many questions. All it would have done was hurt MacLeod, and it wasn’t her M.O. to dwell on things she couldn’t change—but in eleven hundred years, she’d never heard of an Immortal coming back from the final death.

“Okay, I get it. And I don’t know what any of it means, either. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us. So, will you help me? I need to get out of town, hide out someplace, and stay under the radar until I can set up a new identity.”

A clean getaway, she could do. “You’re right. We can worry about all this after we get you out of here.”

~*~

Father Riley showed Amanda out, and they said their good-byes in front of the church, in plain view. Richie watched from a window as they parted and headed in opposite directions. Maybe thirty minutes later, the phone on Liam’s desk rang once—Amanda’s signal.

Richie crossed the street behind the church and headed for the alley. A two-door coupe idled there; behind the wheel, the driver lifted a hand and gave the all-clear signal. Even knowing it was Amanda, he barely recognized her; she wore a baseball hat and mirrored, wrap-around sunglasses. 

“Don’t say it,” she warned as he got in on the passenger side.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He scanned the end of the alley where it met the street, hunching into his borrowed coat. “You sure we’re in the clear?”

She arched her brows over the top of the glasses. “Be serious, darling. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry I doubted you. So, where we going?” 

She smiled. “You up for a road trip?”

~*~

Fifty clicks or so south of the city, he finally began to relax and take in the scenery. Amanda had to remind herself that from his point of view, he’d been fighting for his life the day before.

“You’re lucky Liam was the one to find you,” she said.

“Tell me about it. Decent guy. You known him a long time?”

“Two hundred years, give or take. We’ve saved each other’s bacon a few times.” She glanced at him. “I’m glad he was there when you…you know.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

She patted his knee in reassurance. “It’ll be all right, you’ll see. We’ll get you everything you need, and you’ll be out of the country in no time. You can start over, anyplace you want.”

“Sure.” At Amanda’s look, he shrugged. “It’s not my first time.”

He sounded so much older than his years that it hurt her heart. “It does get easier with practice.” She hesitated, sensing his mood and guessing the reason. After a moment, she said gently, “Can you talk about it? What happened that night?”

“Honestly? I don't really know. Mac was seeing things, and I think I was, too. I'm not sure any of us really knows the truth, and we probably never will.”

She wanted to tell him that MacLeod was better, that he'd gotten over whatever temporary insanity had struck him that night. But truth be told, she wasn’t at all that sure she could vouch for MacLeod's current state of mind. Something had been going on with him even before O’Rourke, and she hadn’t liked the sound of that _Never again._

“Maybe it’s better that way,” she offered. “I know I’ve seen things in my life that I can’t explain.”

“You believe in miracles?” he asked skeptically.

“I’m an Immortal. I’ve lived for centuries, and no one’s ever given me an explanation why. How could I presume to say miracles don’t exist?”

“Point taken.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “So, want to tell me about Nick?”

“Nick?” She tried for casual, but Richie knew her too well.

“Yeah,” he said, “you know, the guy you were so worried about?”

“Oh, _that_ Nick. He’s a friend.” At Richie’s look, she added, “Okay, maybe more than a friend. He’s only been Immortal for a few months, and he’s had a tough time of it so far.”

“I know how that can be.” 

She changed lanes to pass a slow van, glancing at her mirrors. “He’s stubborn, you know? At first, he wouldn’t even consider learning to fight, or change his name, or any of that. He’s lucky he survived the first month.” She winced, remembering. “In fact, he almost didn’t. Liam was the one who got him to listen to reason. I called Ceirdwyn, and she agreed to meet him.”

Richie nodded. “If you’re gonna learn, learn from the best.”

“And from someone who won’t put up with your crap.”

“That, too.” They both fell quiet.

“You hungry?”

“Starving.”

~*~

It was dark when Richie woke to the sound of gravel under the tires. A stucco farmhouse rose ahead of them in the beams of the car’s headlights, and a collection of other low buildings lay arranged around the yard. He could make out a garden wall laden with winter vines and a stone fountain. Nearby, he could hear the soft bleating of goats. Richie, a city boy at heart, had to admit that as hideouts went, they could do worse.

“We’re here,” Amanda said, and shifted the car into neutral.

He got out and stretched, tilting his head back to look at the stars. The night was cold and still and clear, and he breathed deep, suddenly glad—at least for the moment—to be alive. 

Ceirdwyn kept vineyards, Amanda had said. Richie wondered what else she did out here at the ass end of nowhere, besides growing grapes and teaching Amanda’s boyfriend to fight. From what MacLeod had told him, she didn’t seem like the grape-growing type. 

_You’re okay with this?_ Richie had asked Amanda, when she’d told him where they were going. _I mean, seems like you and this Nick fellow have some history._

 _It’s time,_ she’d told him, sounding like she might be trying to convince herself. _It’s been long enough._ Then, uncharacteristically honest, for Amanda, she’d admitted, _Either he’ll forgive me, or he won’t, but I’m tired of waiting around to find out._

Ceirdwyn herself greeted them at the door. As gorgeous as Richie might have guessed from Mac’s description, she hugged Amanda like they were old friends, and Richie made a mental note to ask Amanda about that later. Then she gave Richie an appraising look. “Another of your lost strays, Amanda?” Her smile took the sting out of it.

“Richie’s a lot less trouble than Nick, I promise.” 

“Thank you,” said Richie, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” He smiled at Ceirdwyn, whom he’d heard so much about. “Hi, I’m Richie Ryan.”

She took his hand. Hers was warm and callused. “Welcome to my home. What’s mine is yours.” She smiled back, showing dimples. “And I’m no stranger to trouble.”

As they came into the house, another Immortal signature made itself known. Richie had rarely been around so many Immortals at once; he glanced at Amanda in time to see the hopeful look on her face as she sought the source. But it wasn’t Nick Wolfe who walked into the room. 

At the sight of a familiar face, Richie let out a disbelieving laugh. Cory Raines. “You've got to be joking.” He gave Amanda an accusing glance. “Did you know he was going to be here?”

She winced. “Maybe?”

“Red!” Cory greeted him, then surveyed Amanda appreciatively. “Hey, Dollface. You are a sight for sore eyes.” He embraced her and kissed her soundly on the lips. 

“Cory,” Amanda said with a tight laugh and a glance toward the hall that said she didn’t want Nick to walk in and get the wrong idea.

“You both are,” Cory added, turning his attention back to Richie as Amanda maneuvered out of his grasp. He gave Richie a head-to-toe appraisal that Richie declined to analyze too closely. “Glad to hear the rumors of your death were exaggerated.” 

“Thanks, I think,” said Richie. He took Cory’s hand reluctantly. Cory’s grip was warm, too; he’d ditched the earring, but otherwise, he hadn’t changed much. 

Ceirdwyn said, “Cory, would you mind getting the key for the cottage? It’s in the kitchen.”

“You got it, boss.”

When he’d gone, Amanda said, admiring, “You’ve certainly got him trained.”

“Depends on the day of the week,” Ceirdwyn said dryly.

“You’re good for him,” Amanda countered.

“I wish,” said Ceirdwyn. “He’s incorrigible. But what else is new?” She sounded fond. Richie remembered that Cory, despite his tendency to act like a perpetually teenaged idiot with a death wish, had been around for centuries, and had managed to lure Amanda away from MacLeod at least once. Apparently, even the legendary Ceirdwyn wasn’t immune to his charms.

Amanda sobered. “Is he here?” she asked. Richie knew by the change in her tone that it wasn’t Cory she meant.

“He’s out running.” 

"In the dark,” Amanda said, dubious. 

Ceirdwyn looked apologetic. “He wasn’t sure he was ready to see you.”

“His loss,” Cory said, returning from the kitchen, keys in hand. 

“He’ll be back,” Ceirdwyn said. “Trust me.” She laid a hand on Amanda’s arm and squeezed. “Meanwhile, have you eaten?”

“Not since Orleans.”

“Let’s get you settled, then, and I’ll put something together. And you can try the Beaujolais—it’s not half bad, if I don’t say so myself.”

As they followed Ceirdwyn and Amanda deeper into the house, Cory asked, sotto voce, “So, I gotta ask, did Mackie-boy seriously…?” He looked meaningfully at Richie’s neck and drew a line against his own throat with his thumb. At Richie’s expression, Cory winced. “That’s gotta hurt.”

“Cory!” exclaimed Amanda over her shoulder. “Could you be any more insensitive?”

Cory did his best to look apologetic. “I mean, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

Richie said, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Gotta say, doesn’t help much.”

“I can see how it wouldn’t.”

“ _Cory._ ”

Richie interjected, “It’s okay, Amanda.” And, weirdly, it was. Cory’s frank acknowledgment of the truth made Richie feel more grounded, somehow—a little less like he was losing his mind.

A brief, awkward silence followed, which Ceirdwyn broke by saying, “Let’s talk passports, shall we? It just so happens I know a guy…”

~*~

They ate around the kitchen table and discussed logistics for the better part of an hour. The bottle of wine was followed by one of Irish whiskey, and after that, Richie got a little fuzzy on the details. Wolfe returned eventually; he and Amanda disappeared somewhere together, and then Ceirdwyn went to bed, and Richie had a vague memory of a cold, stumbling trip across the yard in the moonlight, and Cory fumbling with keys.

He woke in the late morning, very thirsty, the quilt pulled over him but still wearing his borrowed clothes. Bright winter sunshine flooded in the window, falling on a glass of water that someone had left thoughtfully on the rough-hewn wooden nightstand. He drank it all, deciding grudgingly that Cory might have one or two redeeming qualities.

After a shower, and wearing a clean shirt he’d found folded on the chair, Richie put on Liam’s jacket and went in search of breakfast. Apparently, coming back from the dead was a hungry business; the last two days, he couldn’t seem to get enough to eat.

The kitchen was empty, the others out of sensing range, but someone had left a thermos of coffee and baguette beside a pot of butter. He was just polishing off the latter two when Cory came in and leaned in the doorway, approving. “Well, at least we know you’re not a zombie.”

Richie finished chewing, and washed it down with the last of the coffee. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Cory’s eyes flickered over him. “Sleep well?”

Richie wasn’t sure whether everything Cory said was intended as a come on, or if he just couldn’t help himself. “Can’t complain.” Richie took his dishes to the sink. “Thanks for the water.”

“You’re welcome.” Cory was still there, still considering him with the same insouciant look, when Richie finished with the dishes. “Looks good on you,” Cory commented, brows arched. At Richie’s quizzical look, he clarified, “The shirt.”

Richie felt his face warm. “Well, thanks for that, too, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “So, where is everyone?”

“Ceirdwyn went into town. Amanda and Nick went for a drive. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Terrific.”

Cory chuckled. “Boyo, you really don’t like me, do you?”

“Yeah. See, you keep forgetting the part where you ran me over the first time we met. Oh, and the part where you did it again. And that was _before_ you got Amanda kidnapped by Sam Grinkov—need I go on?”

“All right, that’s fair.” Cory finally straightened from his nonchalant lean. “Then you should let me make it up to you.”

Suddenly wary, Richie eyed him. “What’d you have in mind?”

~*~

“Oh, my god. Is that what I think it is?”

“Mmhmm,” Cory said over his shoulder. “How you like me now?”

Richie strode into the barn, approaching the bike like he was in the presence of greatness. Cory drew a loving hand along the glossy fuel tank. “Nineteen fifty-one Vincent Black Lightning.”

“One of only thirty ever made,” Richie breathed. “I think I’m in love.”

Cory gave Richie an appraising look. “Want to take her for a spin?”

Richie’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Cory’s slow grin surfaced. “As a train job.” He stood aside and gestured for Richie to give the bike a try.

Richie, beginning to understand what Amanda saw in him, grinned back.

~*~

“So, what d’you think?” Cory called out, striding across the yard to meet him as he dismounted. “Is she worth all the hype?”

Richie shook his head in appreciation. “Handles like she has a hinge in the middle, but oh, man. That engine wants to get up and go, all right.”

“A hundred and forty if you let her.” They walked the bike back to the barn, careful of the gravel. “Gotta watch yourself around here, though. The French cops love to give tickets to Americans.”

“They’d have to catch you, first.”

Cory laughed. “Now you’re talking.” He gave Richie an approving look.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just knew you had some fun in you somewhere.” Richie probably should have been annoyed, but the thrill of the ride, of the sunshine and crisp air and beautiful countryside had put him in too good a mood.

“Thank you,” Richie said, meaning it. “Seriously. I’ve never even seen one of these in person before.”

“Any time.” Cory's look shifted to one of appraisal. “Feel better?”

Richie sighed. “Yeah, I do.” When he was on the bike, he’d felt alive. Like himself. “It still hasn’t really sunk in, I guess.” 

The sound of a car pulling into the yard forestalled whatever he might have said next. “Looks like Amanda and Nick,” Cory said, glancing over Richie’s shoulder. “Well, they haven’t killed each other yet. I guess that’s a good sign.”

The joke rang a bit hollow to Richie, but he did his best not to think about it too much. Curious, he asked, “You okay with the two of them, you know, getting their groove back?”

“What? Oh, you mean because Amanda and me…?” Cory laughed. “There was never anything serious between Amanda and me. We just have fun together, that’s all.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because that’s not the impression I got.”

Cory shrugged. “She wanted to make Mac jealous, and I was happy to help. Besides, you haven’t met Nick yet. You think _MacLeod’s_ a stick in the mud.”

“That bad, huh?”

Cory slung an arm around Richie’s shoulders and led them toward the door. “Trust me. If there was ever a guy who needed an Amanda in his life, it’s Nick Wolfe.”

Richie felt like he should protest the familiarity, but it felt strangely comforting. Like he was just a normal guy, not someone who might or might not be walking around carrying a millennial curse. 

The pale sun was directly overhead when they left the barn; soon it would begin to sink for the last time that year. In much of Asia, the new year had already begun.

~*~

Nick, it turned out, shared Richie’s appreciation for motorcycles, and seemed like a pretty decent guy all around, if a little intense. He and Amanda were obviously well on their way to working things out, teasing each other and flirting, and when Ceirdwyn returned from town laden with fresh fish, fowl, vegetables, and half a case of Grand Cru in unlabeled bottles, the unlikely gathering of Immortals took on a festive air.

“I think this is more of us than I’ve ever seen in one place,” Richie said to Ceirdwyn as he helped her slice onions. MacLeod had taught him basic sous chef skills long ago, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used them.

Ceirdwyn looked around at their little group, smiling. “It’s been a long time. We so rarely have the chance.”

“Rebecca used to host the best parties,” Amanda said from the dining room, as she and Cory set the table. “Remember?”

Cory laughed. “How could I forget? You two were infamous.”

“And Fitzcairn, always getting himself into trouble over some duchess or other.”

“When he wasn’t getting arrested for rum-running.”

“Ah, the good old days.” 

Nick, trimming mushroom stems, rolled his eyes and exchanged a look with Richie. “And in case you’re wondering, yes, it gets old when you’re the green boy who wasn’t around for the good old days.”

“Tell me about it,” Richie said. “Try having two MacLeods in the house.” Not to mention Methos, but he didn’t think the old guy would appreciate being name-dropped.

“Sorry, boys,” Amanda said, contrite. “We’ll try to keep the reminiscing to a minimum.”

Ceirdwyn leaned over conspiratorially. “You think two MacLeods are bad, you should see what happens when Corwin and Matthew try to coexist under the same roof.”

“Corwin?” Richie laughed.

“I heard that,” Cory called from the other room. He strolled back into the kitchen, his voice a low growl. “Sorry, Red. Only she gets to call me that.”

“Oh, I don’t know, seems to me I can call you Corwin if I feel like it, Corwin.”

“There’s other things you could call him,” Amanda said.

“Now you’re ganging up on me,” Cory complained. 

“It’s okay, you deserve it,” said Nick.

Cory considered, and his expression conceded that there might be some truth to that.

“So, who’s Matthew?” Richie asked, a question that launched a long and colorful round of storytelling that kept them all entertained well into dinner, and the second bottle of wine. Then the conversation turned to Y2K, which Richie had to have explained.

“Personally, I think it’d be great,” Cory said. “All these computers and electronics make it tough for an honest thief to make a living.”

Amanda smiled, delighted. “So, what would you do, if all the security cameras and computer devices in the world stopped working at once. What would you steal first?” This set off a game between the two of them to see who could plan the best old-school heist, with Richie offering helpful embellishments.

“You do remember I was a cop, right?” Nick said, but predictably, this did little to dissuade them.

~*~

As the conversation wound down, Amanda made a show of yawning. “I don’t know why, but I’m just so sleepy all of a sudden.” She bade them good night, and a few minutes later, Nick did the same.

“Gosh, I wonder what they’re up to,” said Cory, eyebrows waggling. Ceirdwyn punched him on the arm, which looked like it hurt. The three of them cleared the table and made quick work of the remaining dishes. Richie tried not to keep checking the clock, but when midnight came and went with no red fog, no sign of anything unusual happening, he breathed a little easier. 

“Happy New Year, you two,” Ceirdwyn said. She kissed them both on the cheek and headed off to bed herself. 

Cory said, “Looks like it’s just you and me. I think there's still some champagne in the cellar—no thanks to me.”

“Nah, I think I’m gonna call it a night. This was fun, though.” Richie looked around the room, thinking it was the first time in a long time he’d felt like part of a family, even for a little while. He’d been stupid, letting himself go along with it, as if he weren’t a danger to all of them. “Good night, Cory.”

“Night.” Cory couldn’t resist adding, in a laden tone, “Sweet dreams.”

Richie had to laugh. He remembered Amanda saying, _That’s kind of what I like about him._ “Yeah, you too.”

~*~

He got as far as the cottage door before the low hum of Presence warned him; he turned, and saw Cory had followed him. Annoyed, Richie opened his mouth to tell him to buzz off, but Cory laid a hand on the door and forestalled him.

“Thought so,” Cory said. “I know that look.”

“What look?”

“That, ‘I’m gonna blow town in the middle of the night before this can all go horribly wrong’ look.”

 _Dammit._ “Is it that obvious?”

“To me, anyway,” Cory said. “So, where you planning to go?”

“Doesn’t matter. Away from here.” He could survive for a while without a passport if he had to. Other people did it all the time. 

Richie opened the door and stepped inside, but Cory didn’t take the hint, following Richie in.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, midnight’s come and gone. Nobody turned into a pumpkin—not even you.”

Richie gave a soft laugh without much humor in it. “How’d you know?”

“Amanda told me,” Cory admitted. “She’s worried about you.”

Richie paced a little. “Millennial demons. Good versus Evil, Immortal champions, the dead coming back to life—it all sounds crazy. I get it. But some things, I’d rather not risk.”

“Look, kid—”

Richie turned to confront him. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Never said you were. It’s a term of endearment.” That shut Richie up for a moment—long enough for Cory to narrow the distance between them. Up close, he smelled faintly like tobacco and licorice. “I can’t explain what’s happened to you, but I _can_ tell you, I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my life. There’s more mystery and wonder in this world than just Immortals cutting people’s heads off. You’re alive. And you’re among friends. Don’t look a gift horse, you hear what I’m saying?” As if to prove his point, Cory reached out. Before Richie knew what he was planning, he wrapped a hand around the back of Richie’s neck and squeezed gently. His thumb traced an unmistakable caress against Richie’s throat.

Richie knocked Cory’s hand away and stepped back.

“What the hell? Are you nuts?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that?” Cory leaned against a vertical beam with the confidence of a guy who knew the precise and undeniable power of his own sex appeal. “You telling me you’re not interested?”

“Interested?” Richie’s heart betrayed him, knocking hard against his ribs. “Like, in sex? With you?”

Cory’s mouth twitched. His whole manner made Richie think of a lazy cat resting its paw on a helpless mouse. “I don’t see anyone else here, do you?” His gaze strayed south, ranging to somewhere around Richie’s knees before returning to Richie’s lips. “I don’t know about you, but coming back from the dead always gets my engines revved.”

Unbidden, Richie flashed on the memory of Amanda saying, _A woman wants to be wanted. Not just a woman—everyone wants that._

“Cory—” It came out a lot more uncertain than he meant it to.

“Mm.” Cory licked his lips. The tactic was ridiculous—but undeniably hot. Sweat prickled in places Richie wished he could deny.

“You are unbelievable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Cory met his eyes, unapologetic. “Want to do something about it?”

Richie stared at him. The guy was infuriating, but he wasn’t wrong. Richie’d always harbored a secret curiosity about what, exactly, Cory had been proposing they do in that hot tub—not to mention wondering what both Amanda and MacLeod had seen in him, besides the obvious. 

“Oh, what the hell,” Richie said before he knew he meant to. And stepped forward, reaching for Cory’s vest. He pulled it down over Cory’s broad shoulders and crowded the bigger man up against the beam. “I’m gonna regret this, but at least it’ll shut you up.”

Cory laughed at that, and the sound of it resonated deep in the space between them. “You keep telling yourself that,” Cory said. But he let Richie take control, and that, more than anything, lit a fire in Richie’s belly. He pressed up against Cory’s chest; felt the solid heat of Cory’s erection against his own. Cory slid down the beam slightly, so they were face to face. He had a tiny scar on one eyebrow.

“I still think you’re an ass,” Richie told him, though the rough cadence of his breathing and the way he couldn’t help rutting up against Cory probably took some of the sting out of it.

“What’s that? You like my ass?” Cory brushed his lips against Richie’s throat, then bit him there, with tongue, and not too gently. Richie shivered and returned the favor. Cory’s hands found his waist, then moved lower to cup Richie’s ass, squeezing.

“Whatever,” Richie muttered; Cory tasted as good as he smelled, and Richie set a rhythm of slow friction of his hips against Cory’s, his dick finding a sweet spot that made rational thought dissipate like smoke. When he was far enough gone that he didn’t care anymore whether this was a terrible idea, he left off his attentions to Cory’s smooth, warm neck and sought his mouth. Cory opened for him immediately, and they kissed, deep and hungry. 

When they finally broke for air, Cory breathed, “Yowza,”—but by then, Richie was all in, and shut him up again like his life depended on it.

~*~

Later, their clothes discarded in an uneven trail across the room, they lay sweaty and spent across the quilt on Richie’s bed. Richie sprawled on his back, staring at the ceiling as his breath and heartbeat returned to normal. _Well, if you thought you were going to Hell before,_ he thought, and laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“That’s better,” Cory said, his voice rough with sex and satisfaction.

Richie glanced over at him. Cory looked about as debauched as he sounded. “Amanda is never going to let us hear the end of this.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Cory tried.

“Yeah, right. Have you _met_ Amanda?”

“Ah, yeah, you might have a point.” A slow grin teased at Cory’s lips. “That mean you’re planning on staying?”

Richie sighed. “I don’t even think I can move right now, so, looks that way.” _At least until tomorrow,_ he thought.

“Excellent,” Cory said, and let his eyes drift close. “My work here is done.”

~*~

The nightmare that woke Richie in the early hours of the morning wore a familiar face. It was three days overdue.

He snapped into consciousness, a cry of betrayal and rage locked in his throat. The sound of it rang in his ears, and for a few seconds he wasn’t sure if he’d actually cried out. 

Cory snored softly beside him, though, so maybe that had just been a memory. A fire crackled in the hearth; Cory must have lit it after Richie drifted off. He was grateful. The little cottage would have been freezing without it.

As if sensing his distress, Cory stirred. He blinked sleepily into awareness.

“Red? Everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

Cory frowned, and pushed himself up to one elbow. “Bad one?”

“Bad enough,” he admitted. A chill had sunk into his bones despite the fire. He sat up and reached for the sweater Liam had given him.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not even a little.”

“It was clowns, wasn’t it? I fucking hate when it’s clowns.”

Richie closed his eyes and prayed for strength. He meant well. He was just…Cory.

“Look,” he said at last, “I appreciate—all of this. I do. And I know everything’s a big joke to you, but Ahriman is real. I know he is. And I’m here, alive, when I shouldn’t be. I can’t help thinking that he’s still out there somehow. That he’s got plans for me.” 

“Mm, well, maybe,” Cory said. 

“You got another explanation?”

“I might.”

“Really.”

“I mean, you said it’s the fight of good versus evil. So if demons are real, there’s got to be a force for good out there, right? Champions don’t fight for themselves. They fight for a cause.”

It caught Richie off guard. He blinked. “I never thought about it that way.”

Cory, insightful as always, said, “Maybe that’s because you don’t think you’re worth saving.” When Richie said nothing, Cory’s voice sunk to a growl, “Ol’ Mackie-boy’s got a lot to answer for, if you ask me.”

Richie turned his face away slightly and swallowed. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“If you say so.” Cory paused, then added, “On the bright side, this would probably really piss him off.”

Richie huffed a laugh. “You’re right about that.”

Unexpectedly, Cory laid a hand against his chest and drew it lightly down his ribs, an almost-caress. “I’m not really what you would call obligated right now. If you have to leave, I could, you know, tag along. For…whatever.”

“Literally the worst idea I could imagine.”

Cory’s hurt expression looked at least partly genuine. “Aw, c’mon. I’m not all bad. You have to admit I’m at least a _little_ fun to be around.”

“Sure,” said Richie, dubious. Cory pinched his nipple gently, and Richie flinched. Grudgingly, he allowed, “Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

At last, Richie turned to look at him. “Don’t quote me. But, you know. Thank you.”

Cory’s lazy smile spoke volumes, and even though Richie knew the guy was trouble embodied, and possibly more than a little unstable, he couldn’t help the warm feeling it woke in his chest. It’d been a long time since he’d had anything for himself, and whatever happened next, maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be the worst decision he’d ever made.

Cory winked. “Don’t mention it.”

~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I do know that Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre doesn't have a graveyard. Creative license. :) I don't know anything about motorcycles, so apologies if my research failed in any way. Happy holidays!


End file.
